WHAT MY MOTHER KNOWS
The texture of darkness.
The scent of my father whenever
he leaves home at dawn with anger
rioting in his stomach.
The shape of hunger. Our bellies on days
when my father deserts us like a haunted house.
African mother. Source: www.babymamahood.com
Our eyes full of hollows on nights when our palms
quiver as we gather around my mother, watching her
mumble voiceless aches.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rasaq Malik is a graduate of the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His poems have appeared in Connotation Press, Heart Online Journal, Jalada, Saraba, Sentinel, African Writers, New Black Magazine, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere. He believes writing is an act of healing, an art that transcends the world, that survives every death.
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